This poem was inspired by a prompt from ladyqkat directing my attention to certain posts by ladysprite. I am well pleased to discover these, and hope I have done them justice in this poem.
The Faerie Queen's court is bright and gay ...
With pets less than simple, so they say.
Seven years' service seemed a small price
For a scholarship and good advice.
Little I knew of the things I'd face,
Serving as vet to the faerie race.
A jackalope with a broken horn,
A parlor-maid's missing unicorn,
A troll complaining about his goats,
A centaur sick from feeling his oats,
A werewolf suffering from a cough,
A basilisk's claw near falling off,
Teacup griffins that eat their own legs,
Emergencies with cracked dragon eggs --
Is it any wonder I've gone spare,
Trying to balance the here and There?
Though they're petty problems, to be sure,
The hell they make of my days is pure.
I know that all jobs have parts that suck,
But on sabbat-eves, I curse my luck.
The city's no place for faerie kin,
But some of them love it, and stay in.
How could I blame them? I live here too.
In faerie land, I'm just passing through.
My time near done, She asks if I'll stay,
Or part with Magic. What could I say?
I choose my hopes, instead of my fears.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Seven more years."